


Flying High

by Skits



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Gen, Mostly G1-based
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-01-27 08:01:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12577288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skits/pseuds/Skits
Summary: They were created to be used as weapons, but these weapons turned out to have minds, and wills, of their own... Transformers AU, TFs-as-humans, mostly G1-based.





	1. Chapter 1

His first moments of awareness were brief and fragmented - vague, blurry glimpses of a dark room lit with blue, a sensation of floating in something that wasn't quite liquid and wasn't quite air, and a feeling that he was being fed massive amounts of information that his mind wasn't yet ready to process.

His first -real- moment of awareness came later - how much later, he couldn't tell. The dark room and blue light were gone, as was the floating sensation. Instead, as his mind slowly emerged from the soft black fuzz it had been in, he realised that he was lying on his back. He opened his eyes, then squinted at the sudden light and blinked several times till his eyes had adjusted. He didn't sit up though, not yet. His mind felt slow and lethargic, like it was wading through a thick haze. There was information in there somewhere, he knew it, but it wasn't yet processing properly.

He blinked again and slowly looked around at what he could see from his prone position, not yet trusting himself to move much more than that. The room he was in looked plain, painted a pale cream with a large mirror that took up almost all of one wall. There was only one door, with a solid-looking handle and lock. From what he could see in the mirror, he was lying on a low bed in the corner of the room, and was dressed in plain, tan overalls and socks, but no boots. That struck him as odd for some reason, but he couldn't figure out why. Brief pieces of information kept floating to the surface of his mind, then sinking into the haze again before he could properly grasp them.

He finally decided to try sitting up, and after a few false starts as he sorted his limbs out, he was perched on the edge of the bed, hands lightly gripping the edge of it on either side of him. As there was nothing much else in the room to hold his attention, the mirror quickly became his main focus. He studied himself intently, his brow furrowed in concentration. He was tall, but seemed to be of average build - how he knew it was average, he wasn't sure - fairly lean, with a square jaw, dark blond hair, and bright blue eyes. He studied himself for several moments, absently tilting his head this way and that as he tried to get a good feeling of himself, of who he was. 

He'd gotten to his feet and was walking around a little unsteadily when the door opened and someone stepped inside. Startled, he spun around and nearly fell over before recovering his balance. The newcomer, a short, slim, black-haired woman with wire-rimmed glasses, closed the door and smiled thinly at him. "Your reflexes are good, but it looks like your motor skills still need some work. How are you feeling?"

He blinked, taking a moment to register the meaning of her words, then frowned uncertainly. "Strange," he admitted after a moment, gesturing vaguely with his hands as he privately wondered where the words and his understanding of them was coming from. 

The woman eyed him clinically. "Strange how?" she asked, tucking her hands into the pockets of her labcoat. "Physically? Mentally?"

He paused for a while before replying as the words and their meanings swam up from the haze of his mind, then spoke slowly and carefully. "Mentally. Fuzzy. Like... I know things, but I don't know what, or how I know them." It never occurred to him to question her in return.

She nodded understandingly. "Delay in information assimilation. That should pass as you experience things first-hand." She tilted her head slightly to one side. "And you're feeling all right physically? No aches or pains? No trouble balancing normally?"

Once again he paused before replying, looking down at his hands and flexing them experimentally. "Nothing that I've noticed. A little unsteady, still getting used to moving, but I think I'm all right."

"Good! Very good." She smiled in satisfaction. "You're our first surviving one, so we're all figuring this out as we go."

He frowned in confusion. "First...?" That surviving comment worried him.

The woman eyed him with surprise, then sighed. "Of course they wouldn't think to include any of that," she muttered, withdrawing one hand from her pocket to pinch at the bridge of  her nose. "All right, let's see how much they did include." She dropped her hand back down and eyed him levelly. "Do you know who I am?"

He was about to reply to the negative, but her appearance had caused something to float to the surface of his mind, and he grasped at it awkwardly. "Doctor... doctor Vonel?"

She nodded, smiling again. "Right. I'm Jen Vonel, and my colleagues are doctor Mark Hess and doctor Timothy Arrick." Jen glanced over at the mirror, then looked back. "You'll meet them later, probably. This is the Biotech Research and Development facility, and you're our first surviving subject in our attempts to bioengineer soldiers specifically for aerial integrated mech combat." 

His brow furrowed as he absorbed that information, which in turn caused more pieces of information to float to the surface of his mind. "Aerial integrated... A.I.M. combat. I know what that is. I know what the mechs are--" His expression shifted to surprise, then his brow furrowed in concentration for a few moments before he added in wonder, "-- and I think I know how to pilot them." 

"Excellent!" Jen practically cheered, smiling broadly. "We'll have to test exactly how much transferred, of course, but that's a very good start." She gestured to the foot of the bed. "Get your boots on, and we'll head to the training room."

Puzzled, he looked to the foot of the bed, then spotted a pair of combat boots resting in the corner against the wall, half-hidden in the shadows. He perched on the edge of the bed and pulled them on, as Jen watched with a touch of impatience. He fumbled a little with the bootlaces, but soon managed to sort them out and lace his boots up. Once he was done, he stood up and experimentally rocked back and forth on his feet to get used to the feel of them.

"All right," Jen rubbed her hands together once he was ready, then opened the door and gestured for him to follow. "Let's go and see exactly how much you know."

**...**

Doctor Mark Hess stood with his hands clasped behind his back and his brow furrowed in thought. He watched through the one-way window as Jen ushered the subject back into the observation room and exchanged a few words with him before exiting. The subject moved over to the bed and dropped down onto it, lying back with his arms folded behind his head. Mark idly noted that the subject was moving much more fluidly and confidently than he had been earlier. "Good physical progress," he mused, his gaze fixed on the scene in the window.

The shorter, stocky man seated beside him glanced up at his words and nodded. "Good mental progress as well, according to the test results," he added, looking back to the monitor before him. "Near-perfect recall of all the implanted information that he's been tested on so far."

The door to the room opened then and Jen slipped inside. "So, how'd he go?" she asked, moving to stand behind the seated man and peer over his shoulder at the screen. 

He glared up her. "You know I hate it when you do that." 

"Sorry, Tim." She didn't sound at all repentant though and stayed right where she was. Timothy let out a resigned sigh and looked back at the monitor. "As for your question, he did very well, as I was just telling Hess. A near-perfect result. It looks like the information transfer went off pretty much without a hitch." 

Jen straightened up again with a faint sigh of relief. "We're finally making decent progress."

"Just as well, too," Mark spoke up suddenly, turning his back on the window to eye his two colleagues sternly. "Our client has been getting impatient. He wants results, and quickly. We need to make sure he gets them. Our reputation - and our budget - is resting on this." He shifted to look back at the window. "How are our next subjects progressing?"

Subdued, Jen replied quietly. "They're still growing, though the information upload is going smoothly. They should be ready within the next week." She frowned slightly. "I was thinking perhaps we could add some more to the info upload, though. While our current subject is doing well with the piloting and combat data, he seems rather... lost... when it comes to why he was created or -- well, anything else."

Mark levelled a bland stare at Jen. "They're soldiers. They're being made to fight. They don't -need- to know why. They don't need to know anything else. They just need to do what they're told." He dismissed the suggestion with a sharp shake of his head. "I don't want you adding anything more. In fact, see what you can trim out. The faster we can produce these, the happier our client will be."

Jen's frown deepened, but as Mark's stare bored into her she finally dropped her gaze and nodded. "Understood." Timothy watched the exchange in silence, his eyes wide. 

Mark eyed Jen until he was satisfied she'd accepted his orders, then turned back to the window. "Get the current subject started on the simulators. I want to make sure everything is in order before we let our client know how we're progressing." He didn't bother waiting for a reply from either of his colleagues, and just spun on his heel before striding out of the room.

Jen and Timothy watched him leave, then Jen let out a sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Which means he wants us to start immediately," she murmured blandly. "No rest for the wicked, it seems."

Timothy nodded in wry agreement. "I'll get the simulators started up for you." Jen offered him a faint smile in thanks and headed out of the room.

**...**

Jen ushered her charge into the large room that held the simulator modules. He looked around with interest, absently noting that all the equipment looked to be almost brand new. 

"Right," Jen started, gesturing towards the nearest module. "These are the training simulators for the A.I.M.s. I'd tell you how to use it, but you probably know that better than I do," she added with a wry little smile. 

He smiled hesitantly in return and looked back at the machines. "Probably." During all the questioning earlier as Jen had tested what he knew, the haze in his mind had finally lifted, and he could think much more clearly and quickly. He headed over to the module that Jen had indicated, then paused to look back at her. "You haven't used any mechs before at all?"

Jen shook her head, her expression wistful. "No. I wish I could, but I'm not compatible with them. Very, very few people are, so far." She smiled at him again. "Which is one reason why we're working on this project. There needs to be more people who -can- use them."

He nodded in understanding, then opened the module hatch and slipped inside. The interior was dark and cramped, and he had to suppress a brief twinge of unease as he leaned back into the padded supports and started to strap into the harness. 

Jen watched him carefully from outside, her expression inscrutable. "Once you're up and running, Timothy will be telling you the mission objectives. They shouldn't be anything too complicated to start with. We just want to get you familiarised with using the mech."

He nodded again as he adjusted yet another strap. Finally he'd finished with the harness and reached for the control helmet, eyeing it for a moment before slipping it on. It was large and bulky, attached to the inside of the cockpit by a thick hose, and sported a close-fitting visor that went over his entire face. The back of it moulded to his head and extended down his neck, with areas inside adhering to his temples and either side of his neck.

The helmet prevented him from seeing anything but black, but once he was settled the hatch closed automatically with a hiss of hydraulics. A moment later his vision sprang back to life, overlaid with an unobtrusive heads-up display. He was standing out on what looked to be a large airfield, with hangars off to his right and runways in front and to the left. The ground, when he glanced down, seemed to be about ten meters away. He lifted both his hands to look them over, but instead of seeing his own fleshy hands, he saw two large, metal-armoured mechanical hands. The helmet intercepted his body's electrical impulses and translated them to the simulated mech, which moved in response, then gave him feedback via the helmet again. He didn't feel like a pilot in a mech -- he -was- the mech, and it was him, moving and reacting as his own body did. He could feel the air moving against its surface, the warmth from the sun, and the ground beneath his feet. 

He took a few experimental steps, then halted in surprise when a male voice suddenly spoke up in what felt to be somewhere in his left ear. " _All settled?_ " It only took him a moment to realise that this must be the Timothy that Jen had mentioned.

"Ah, yes," he replied out loud, a little surprised at the sound of his own voice when filtered through the mech. 

" _You don't have to talk out loud to communicate over the comm. system,_ " Timothy commented, sounding vaguely amused. " _Remember how to use it?_ "

It took him a moment, but once he remembered it became almost instinctive. " _I do now,_ " he replied a little sheepishly over the comm. 

" _Good, good._ " Timothy sounded pleased. " _All right, let's get started. There are several targets set up in the general area - scan for them, then take them out. That ought to get you familiarised with your scanners and weapon systems._ "

He nodded, then belatedly replied over the comm. " _Understood._ " It was only a moment's work to get his scanners up, and he looked around curiously to see what they'd pick up. Several points of interest were helpfully targeted by his HUD, information on each one flashing up as he focused on them individually. Another moment and his weapons systems were online, his forearm and hand shifting into a cannon that quickly hummed to life. He eyed it curiously - the transformation and humming were an odd sensation, though he suspected he'd get used to it very quickly. 

He considered the targets his scanners had already picked out, then instinctively aimed and fired at the nearest one. A white-hot blast of energy shot out of his arm-cannon and sizzled through the air, searing past the side of the target and hitting the ground beyond it in a spray of dirt. He frowned and tried again, then felt a little thrill of success when the blast hit the target just off-center and exploded quite satisfactorily. 

Emboldened by his success, the next target went down just as easily, then several more in quick succession. As the last target disintegrated and his weapon spun down, Timothy's voice spoke up again. " _Excellent! You picked up on that very quickly._ " He started a little in surprise - he'd almost forgotten that this was a simulator run and that someone was monitoring the whole exercise. " _Let's try some moving targets now, shall we?_ " 

Before he could reply, his scanners warned him of several hostile ground vehicles incoming. He instinctively spun on one heel to face them, his cannon whirring to life again as he let off a volley of shots. The vehicles scattered, two or three exploding as the shots hit them. Others peeled away and roared off in separate directions, some taking cover amongst the hangars while the rest spread out in the open. 

The ones out in the open proved to be fairly easy pickings - they weren't fast or agile enough to avoid his shots, now that he had his eye in. The ones that had taken cover however proved to be trickier. He wasn't sure if he was allowed to damage the hangars, so decided to err on the side of caution and not just destroy the buildings to get to the vehicles. Arm cannon at the ready, he stalked towards the hangars with one eye on his scanners. 

One luckless vehicle was crushed by a large metal fist slamming down onto its hood as it rounded a corner. Another was half-melted by a point-blank blast from the arm cannon. A third was picked up, then thrown into the side of a fourth. As he stood and scanned the area for any more targets, the last vehicle - a sleek-looking sports car - flashed past, briefly visible between two hangars. He immediately gave chase, skidding around the corner just in time to see it vanish behind another building with a screech of tyres. The deadly game of cat and mouse continued for a few more minutes, until finally he managed to flush it out of the collection of buildings and into the open.

The sports car immediately took off, heading for the horizon. He broke into a sprint after it, accelerating with each stride, but the elusive target continued to pull away and out of his range. Some unknown instinct kicked in then, and without even thinking about it he leapt into the air and mentally _twisted_. The mech swiftly folded and rearranged itself around him, parts sliding smoothly into place. Powerful engines kicked in with a roar as the transformed jet took off into the air. 

There was a brief moment of disorientation as his view shifted, but once it settled he found himself already a few hundred meters up and still climbing. He quickly levelled out when he spotted his target below, a thin tail of dust kicking up behind it. He dove towards it, the laser cannon mounted on the underside of the jet's nose strafing at the car. It managed to swerve out of the way though, and the shots struck up short sharp showers of dirt and rock shards. 

He pulled up as he overshot the sports car and started climbing again before circling around for another run. This time, the hapless vehicle wasn't so lucky, and it was peppered with holes before one shot found its gas tank and it exploded in a particularly impressive fireball. He circled the burning wreckage a few times before heading back to where he'd started from, gliding along a couple hundred meters above the ground before pulling his nose up to slow down and lose altitude. He transformed in mid-air and landed on his feet, stumbling a little from momentum and that moment of disorientation as his view shifted, but he quickly recovered and straightened up again. 

" _Excellent!_ " Timothy's voice cheered in his ear, and he winced a little. " _We weren't expecting you to pick up on the transformation or flight so quickly. You've done very well!_ "

He felt a little glow of accomplishment at the praise, on top of the fading exhilaration from the brief flight. " _What next?_ "

There was a pause, as though Timothy was consulting with someone else before he finally replied. " _Let's step things up a bit and give you something that can fight back, shall we? Melee first - see how much of the embedded hand to hand combat you can recall._ "

He nodded and felt a small thrill of excitement as once again his scanners picked up on incoming hostiles. " _I'll do my best._ "

" _That's all anyone can ask,_ " Timothy replied cheerfully. " _Show us what you can do!_ "

He proceeded to do just that.

**...**

Jen was waiting for him when the simulator run was finally over and he emerged from the module. He was a little unsteady on his feet, but smiled broadly at Jen when he spotted her. Jen couldn't help but smile back. "How'd you do?" she asked as the module hatch hissed closed behind him.

"Good! Once I got going, it all came so... naturally. Even the flying! Though transforming felt a little weird at first." He idly flexed his hands, then shook his arms out and wrinkled his nose. "Also feels a little weird now, going back to just being flesh and bone again."

Jen chuckled lightly. "I imagine it would," she agreed as she started towards the door. "So how much did Tim put you through?" 

"A fair bit," he replied as he followed her, limping slightly. "Melee combat, ranged, flying, then some aerial dogfighting." He rubbed his shoulder and winced a little. "Took a few hits - didn't bother me much at the time, but I didn't realise it would persist outside the mech. Especially since it was just a simulator. I'll need to learn to dodge better."

Jen halted in her tracks and frowned, eyeing him up and down. "How bad does it feel?" 

He paused beside her and looked thoughtful for a moment, rolling his shoulder experimentally. "Not bad," he replied finally. "Just kind of achy, like a bruise. I think it'll wear off pretty fast though."

Jen raised an eyebrow at him dubiously, but he just shrugged and smiled a little sheepishly. "Well, let me know if it doesn't, all right?" she told him sternly before continuing forwards.

"Will do," he replied with a nod, falling into step beside her. He looked around as they walked, brow slowly furrowing. "This isn't the same way we came, is it?" 

Surprised, Jen glanced up at him. All the corridors looked much the same, painted off-white and lit at regular intervals with fluorescent tubes. The only real differences tended to be the placement of doors and other hallways, and the occasional small sign. "You're right, it isn't," she replied. "I'm taking you to your actual quarters. They should be a little more comfortable than that box you were in before." 

"Ah." He nodded, accepting the explanation, and continued looking around with interest. A few minutes later, Jen halted by a door, opened it, then gestured for him to head inside. The room was spacious and looked to be some sort of common area, with a couple of couches and armchairs around a low table. More doors were spaced out on the other three walls. Once they were both inside, Jen stifled a yawn, then gestured to some of the doors. "Bathroom and kitchen areas over there. The rest are bedrooms - take your pick of whichever one you like." She patted him gently on the back. "Get some rest now, all right? I'll be back for you in the morning."

He seemed a little taken back at the pat, but smiled faintly at Jen. "I will." He hesitated, eyeing her for a moment, then added, "You get some rest too, all right?"

Jen blinked, surprised that he'd even noticed her weariness, then replied with a lopsided smile. "I'll try." She took a step back, then turned and left the room before he could reply, the door clicking shut behind her. 

**...**

"Impressive." Mark Hess watched the last of the simulator recording before looking over at his colleagues. "Quite impressive. Our client will be pleased at how quickly the subject picked up on combat and flight." He looked over to Jen, who was leaning against the wall and trying not to look as tired as she felt. "What was his physical and mental state afterwards?"

Jen straightened up a little before replying. "He was pleased with his progress. Physically he seemed normal - some residual pain from feedback caused by the hits his mech took, but he assured me they were just mild aches. I've ordered him to inform me if they linger."

Mark nodded, mentally filing the information away before dismissing it from his mind. "That's fairly standard. Tomorrow, get him started on physical training in the morning, then more simulator work in the afternoon." Jen nodded, and Mark turned his attention back to the monitor, replaying some of the simulator run. He watched it for a few minutes, then frowned and looked over at Timothy. "Is there any particular reason the subject didn't fly any higher than a thousand or so meters?"

Timothy opened his mouth slightly to reply, blinked, then closed it again and looked thoughtful. "Not that I can recall," he replied, turning to his own monitor to scrub through the recording. "Hm. He did seem to keep quite close to the ground, though that might just be unfamiliarity with his limits."

"Make a note to test that more thoroughly in the next session, then inform me of the results." 

"Roger that," Timothy replied, rapidly typing something into his computer. "How hard do you want me to push him?"

"As hard as he can handle," Mark replied immediately. Jen raised her head, then bit back her protest and remained silent as Mark turned to stare at her levelly. "You had something to say, Doctor Vonel?" 

Jen shook her head. "No sir." 

"Good. Continue work on the next batch. I want them out and operational as soon as possible." He gave the monitor one last glance, then strode out of the room. Jen waited until he was gone before muttering something highly uncomplimentary and pinching at the bridge of her nose. "Another late night for me, it seems," she said resignedly. 

Timothy made a little sound of sympathy. "You and me both," he replied wryly. "But like you said before, no rest for the wicked."

"So why is Hess getting so much rest then?" Jen asked rhetorically, and Timothy snickered. Jen smiled faintly in response, then shook her head and heaved herself away from the wall. "Well, back to it then. I'll bring you some coffee later."

"Appreciated, Jen." Timothy waved a hand briefly in thanks and farewell as Jen headed out of the room.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, Jen arrived to take her charge to a different room. It was fairly large, with several exercise machines around the walls and an open area in the middle with mats on the floor. "This is the training room," Jen explained as they entered. "You're to train here every morning. Do you recall why?"

He paused for a moment to think, then nodded. "Mech pilots need to make sure they don't neglect their own physical health, especially if they're spending a lot of time in their mechs."

"Exactly," Jen replied with a sharp nod. "Too much time spent piloting can be detrimental to the pilot's health, so it's important to maintain fitness levels. Also, the better shape you're in, the better your mech will respond."

He eyed the various machines with interest. "It'll also help to work out the kinks from any hits I've taken in the simulators," he added with a faint grin. "Give the muscles something -real- to complain about."

Jen blinked, then let out a soft chuckle. "There is that too," she agreed with a little smile before resuming her more business-like expression. "This room can also be used for hand-to-hand sparring, which will also help your reflexes in melee combat." She grimaced slightly. "Unfortunately, we don't have anyone for you to spar with yet, so you'll just have to make do with normal exercise on the machines for now."

He nodded, then regarded Jen curiously. "Yet?"

Jen raised an eyebrow at him. "You didn't think you were the only pilot we were going to create, did you?"

He blinked, then shrugged, looking a little sheepish. "I didn't really think about it at all either way." He paused, then added with a wry little smile, "Though it would explain why I had so many rooms to choose from."

Jen let out another quiet chuckle. "Indeed. We have five more in the works right now, in various stages of development."

"Five more? So there'll be six of us?"

"For now, yes. Once this batch are out, we'll be able to get another lot started." She grimaced slightly. "Assuming nothing goes wrong, anyway."

He paused his fiddling with one of the machines to look back at Jen again. "You said earlier that I'm the first one to survive; do things go wrong a lot?"

"They did to start with, yes," Jen admitted reluctantly. "It's taken a lot of time, trial and error to get this far. But with you here now, I'm confident that we've gotten the process pretty much perfected." Her expression turned wry. "Of course, now that I've said that, a thousand things will probably go wrong all at once."

"I'd ask what sort of things can happen, but given my circumstances, I probably don't want to know," he commented with a wry quirk of his mouth.

"No, you probably don't," she agreed blandly.

He chuckled, then regarded Jen thoughtfully for a moment. "I would like to know, though, if you don't mind me asking... how was I actually, uh... created?"

Jen hesitated, then shrugged. "I don't see why you shouldn't know." She paused to organise her thoughts before starting. "Well, we had to do a lot of research first; you remember that I said that not many people are compatible with mechs, yes?" He nodded, and Jen continued. "That was our original goal, just to figure out exactly what it was that made someone compatible or incompatible."

"How long did that take?"

"Too long. We nearly ran out of funding a few times; back then, we were working independently. We didn't have any outside sponsorship. But our current client heard about our work and decided to help fund us. He provided several samples of DNA from successful mech pilots for us to base our research on, as well as a lot of other data - brain scans and such. Without his help and his funding, I doubt we would have gotten as far as we did."

"Where did he get all the data from in the first place?" he asked curiously.

"From some of his employees, I believe. He owns a company that develops mechs, mostly AIMs, so he had access to just about all the information we needed. He was the one who proposed the idea of actually bioengineering pilots in the first place, actually." She smiled crookedly. "Which is probably why he decided to fund us; he has, from what I've heard, several mechs under development, and nobody available to pilot them."

He tilted his head to one side, still watching her curiously. "You mentioned it before, but is being able to pilot mechs really -that- rare?"

"Rare enough in and of itself," Jen shrugged. "Even rarer for someone to not only be able, but also to be willing."

He looked confused at that. "Why would anyone -not- want to?"

"Because normally it takes years of dedication and training before someone is eligible to be assigned a mech of their own. They need to take the time to actually learn all the things that you already know."

"Oh. I suppose that makes sense." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "So how is it that I know it already, anyway?"

"Again, our client helped with that. He allowed us to record and map the brain functions of some of his best AIM pilots, both inside and outside their mechs and the simulators. From that, we were able to collate all the necessary information and transfer it into your brain while you were being grown."

"Grown?" He leaned back against one of the exercise machines and watched Jen with interest.

Jen nodded. "Normally it takes sixteen to eighteen years for a person to reach physical maturity. We, however, were able to grow you in a matter of months."

"How?"

Jen adjusted her glasses. "That's where the bioengineering comes in. We took the embryo and made adjustments to the base genetic code, to ensure compatibility with mech integration, and also to somewhat enhance the potential of things like strength, agility, endurance and reflexes." She smiled faintly. "Compared to your average, normal human, you and the other pilots we're growing are superior in a lot of ways. Not greatly so, mind, but enough to make a difference, we hope."

"Huh." He considered that for a while with a faint frown, then shook his head slightly and looked back at Jen. "Then what?"

"Then the embryo's suspended in a special formula that greatly enhances the growth rate. Once it was far enough along in development, we transferred it to the larger tank and started the information imprinting." She sighed and rubbed at the back of her neck. "That's the riskiest part. We seem to have figured out how to get it right now though, which is a relief. We discovered that illuminating the tanks with - well, a combination of different light waves, but we just call them the bluelights - helped a lot."

"Bluelights?" He blinked, his expression thoughtful. "I... remember, I think, floating in blue..."

Jen looked surprised. "You do? That's... unexpected. We didn't realise there was any amount of actual consciousness before we got you out of the tank. Do you remember anything else?"

He was silent for a while, brow furrowed in thought, then finally let out a sigh and shook his head. "Nothing else. I don't think it was even really proper consciousness. Just... brief fragments, blurry glimpses of blue."

"Interesting." Jen stared off into nowhere for a few moments, her mind elsewhere, then shook her head and looked back at him. "Thank you for telling me about that. We'll look out for anything like that happening with the others." She glanced at her watch and sighed. "Speaking of which, I should get back to work. Get some exercise here, but don't push yourself too hard. I'll be back to get you for lunch, then you'll be in the simulators with Timothy again for the rest of the afternoon."

He nodded, and Jen turned to leave. Just as she got to the door, he called out. "Jen?"

She paused and looked back at him. "Yes?"

He hesitated a moment, looking a little awkward. "... Thank you. For telling me all of that."

Jen blinked, then smiled briefly. "You're welcome." With that, she slipped out of the room, the door swinging shut behind her.

**...**

The next several days followed the same pattern - Jen retrieved the bioengineered soldier from his rooms and escorted him to the training rooms, where he spent the morning exercising and training. Afternoons were spent in the simulators with Timothy an ever-present voice in his ear, pushing him and his simulated mech as hard as they could go. He never mentioned how uncomfortable high altitudes made him to either Jen or Timothy though. He figured it was a temporary thing and would pass sooner or later, especially since he enjoyed flying itself so much. Afterwards, he was usually too tired and sore to do much more than wash up, eat, and sleep, before the day started all over again. After the first two or three days of this, Jen gradually stopped escorting him everywhere, trusting him to get to where he was supposed to be on his own. Which he did, of course - it never occurred to him to do anything else. Jen still checked in on him every evening, and he noticed that she seemed to be a little more worn out every day.

Things happened a little differently a week or two later though. The morning passed as usual; there was no sign of Jen, but he was used to that by now. However, when he arrived at the simulator room in the afternoon, Jen was waiting there with two people he'd never seen before. He halted in surprise and took a moment to look them over. They were dressed like he was, in plain tan overalls and combat boots, and were both about half a head shorter than him. Both were fairly lean and had black hair and bright blue eyes, but there the similarities between them ended. One was more muscular and practically radiated irrepressible energy as he fidgeted and shifted, almost always in motion. The other was built along more lithe, wiry lines, and seemed to be much calmer and quieter than his energetic companion, looking around with a steady, inquisitive gaze.

Jen smiled when she spotted him enter, though he noted she still looked tired as she gestured him over. "There you are. I want you to meet..." She faltered for a moment, then shook her head slightly and continued. "Your brothers. The two latest successes in this project."

As she spoke, both of them turned to regard him curiously. He nodded and smiled easily as he headed over to them. "Hello, both of you."

The more active one grinned cheerfully in reply. "Hi, oldtimer." Jen frowned disapprovingly, but the target of her disapproval didn't seem to notice or care.

The other newcomer smiled a little shyly and nodded in greeting. "Hello."

Jen gave up frowning and just rubbed at her face for a moment before looking back at the three of them. "Right. I want you two," she gestured at the two newcomers, "to follow his orders both in and out of the simulators, all right? He's in charge."

They both nodded, and the more active one tossed off a lazy salute, still grinning. "Follow the bossman's lead, gotchya."

Jen just sighed and shook her head, giving said 'bossman' an apologetic look. "I hate to dump this on you so suddenly, but I have other work to do now as well. Just run them through the same exercises you've been doing in the simulators, then head back to your quarters. They can pick their own rooms there."

He gave Jen a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, I can take care of it." He paused, then added, "Try to get some rest soon, all right?"

She just gave him a somewhat harried smile, then pointed an admonishing finger at the more active newcomer. "Behave." And with that, she hurried off.

He raised an eyebrow at that, then looked back at his two new charges. "Dare I ask?"

"Probably not," the quieter one sighed. "It might be better for your sanity that way."

The active one snickered, then planted his hands on his hips, his weight cocked over one leg as he eyed his new commander curiously. "So, if you're the bossman, what does that make us? Minions?"

"Lackeys?" his companion suggested helpfully. "Sidekicks?"

He paused for a moment to eye them both, then smiled faintly. "Wingmen," he replied with a firm nod. "I get the feeling we'll be working together a lot. You," he pointed to the quieter of the pair, "are wingman one, and you," he shifted to point at the other, "are wingman two."

One nodded in quiet approval, while Two laughed. "Reduced to a mere number," he mourned theatrically with a shake of his head and let out an exaggerated sigh. "And not even the top number at that."

"Better than 'hey, you'," One pointed out with a faint smile, then tilted his head to eye their commander thoughtfully. "I suppose that would make you wingleader?"

He paused, then nodded. "That works. Now that we've sorted that out, let's get started, mm?" He gestured for them both to head to one of the three simulators that stood with their hatches open.

They apparently knew just as instinctively what to do as he had, and after a moment's confusion when they both tried to head to the same simulator, they got themselves sorted out and strapped in. Once they were both settled and the hatches to their modules were hissing shut, Lead entered his own simulator and quickly settled himself in with the ease of practice.

A minute later, he was standing once again in the simulation's now-familiar airstrip, except this time two more mechs were standing nearby. Or rather, one was standing, looking around with quiet interest. The other was pacing in a circle, flexing its hands and looking skywards. It wasn't hard to tell which one was which. He then realised, for the first time and with a bit of surprise, that the mechs actually had faces - and fairly expressive ones at that, not just plain metal masks as he'd previously assumed.

He had to suppress a laugh when Timothy's voice spoke up in their ears and his two wingmen visibly startled at it. " _Are you all ready to begin?_ " Timothy asked, a touch of weariness in his tone. Apparently he'd been working just as hard as Jen was.

" _Wing One, all clear,_ " came the quiet response.

" _Wing Two, ready and rarin'!_ " There was no mistaking the enthusiasm in that reply.

" _Wing Lead, good to go._ " He smiled faintly to himself, amused at how easily the three of them had fallen into their assumed roles.

Timothy sounded a little bemused when he spoke up next. " _Uh. Right. We'll start with the easy stuff, then work on up from there. Lead, you talk them through it._ "

" _Roger that._ " He looked over at his charges, then gestured towards the hangars and surrounding airfield and spoke aloud instead of through the comms. "Targets should be up now. Scan for them and take them out _._ "

Two was quick to bring his weapons online, One following suit a moment after. He watched with interest as the pair moved in tandem, one going right while the other went left. Between them they made short work of the available targets, though he noticed they already had very different styles. Two tended to pepper the target with a flurry of blasts, while One moved more deliberately, aiming precisely and not wasting any shots.

" _Nice work,_ " Timothy spoke up once the last target had fallen and lay smoking on the ground.

" _That was way too easy,_ " Two said cheerfully as he and One jogged back to where they'd started from. " _How 'bout something with a bit more challenge?_ "

Before Timothy could say anything, Lead spoke up. " _I agree,_ " he stated. " _Let's skip the simple moving targets and go straight for the ones that fight back._ "

" _Are you sure?_ " Timothy spoke up, sounding a little dubious.

" _I believe they can handle it,_ " Lead replied confidently. Two cheered in the background at the prospect of a proper fight, while One just let out a faint sigh and checked over his weapon.

" _All right then,_ " Timothy said. " _Sending out the ground drones. Have fun, boys._ "

As their scanners sprang to life, warning them of incoming hostiles, Lead stepped back and out of the way, speaking out loud instead of over the comms. "All right, we have ground troops with range and melee capabilities. I'll let you two decide the best way to handle them. Just take it easy and be careful," he added in warning. "You -will- still feel any damage you've taken once you're out of the simulators."

One chuckled quietly, keeping a watchful eye on the approaching enemies. "Speaking from experience, Lead?"

"Oh yes. Definitely," he replied with feeling. "Lots of experience."

"Ahh relax, bossman," Two said with confidence. "We can take whatever gets thrown at us." With that, he let out a whoop and charged, his arm cannon blazing. One sighed, then took off after him, hanging back and off to one side to cover his wingman's back and carefully pick off any enemies that were left standing.

The charge had apparently taken the enemy by surprise, as those who weren't initially cut down scattered in several directions. They were quick to regroup again though and were soon returning fire, forcing the pair to take cover amongst the hangar buildings. Lead watched with interest, wondering how they were going to handle the situation. He didn't want to interfere just yet.

He saw the pair confer briefly as they crouched behind a hangar, then One carefully leaned out around the corner and laid down a barrage of coverfire. Two took a short run-up before leaping upwards and transforming mid-air. The jet hovered for a moment on its afterburners, then the engines kicked in and shot it upwards with a roar. Once it was safely airborne, One ducked back behind the building while Two gained altitude, then dove towards the drones in a strafing run. One took the opportunity to become airborne then as well, quickly dropping into position just off Two's wing. The pair then proceeded to repeatedly strafe the ground targets, moving neatly in near-unison as they dove, climbed and banked around for each run, weaving and rolling to avoid incoming fire.

In a few minutes, the drones had all been wiped out, and the pair swooped in to transform and land nearby. One hovered in place for a moment before touching down gently, while Two just dropped, tucked and rolled back up to his feet with a bounce and a grin. "Well, that was fun and exciting," he commented cheerfully, absently brushing a bit of char off his arm where a blast had grazed him. He looked to be sporting several more hits and grazes, but they didn't seem to bother him much.

One looked somewhat better off since he hadn't borne the brunt of the return fire, though he had a few marks of his own. "You have a strange idea of fun," he commented mildly, to which Two just grinned.

Lead just shook his head, though he couldn't quite keep the amusement out of his voice when he spoke. "An interesting demonstration," he commented lightly. "At least you're both still in one piece." One looked a little sheepish, while Two just kept grinning unabashedly. "You worked well together though, and picked up on things pretty quickly. Good job."

The pair looked pleased, and then Two spoke up again. "It just felt... natural, y'know? Especially the flying. Like we were meant t'be up there, not stuck down here on the ground." He shifted his weight from foot to foot and glanced upwards, as One nodded in quiet agreement. "So, can we get back up there again, or are we supposed t'be doing something else now?"

Lead paused, tilting his head slightly to one side as he waited for some word from Timothy, but there was a conspicuous silence. He hesitated a moment, then shrugged and smiled faintly. "It doesn't seem so. You might as well test out your wings properly." He'd barely gotten the words out before Two let out a whoop of joy and took a few steps backwards to give himself room, then hurled himself up into the sky. One gave Lead a brief smile, then quickly followed suit, and the two jets raced each other upwards in a spiralling climb.

He shaded his face with one hand as he tilted his head back to watch them, still smiling faintly. There was just something so joyful and carefree about flying, and it showed in their every movement. He did privately wonder about what might have happened to Timothy, but after a few minutes, he couldn't resist any longer. He quickly kicked himself up into the air with a flare of his afterburners, transforming and taking off after the others. As long as he reminded himself fiercely that this was just a simulation, and he had something else to focus on, he could mostly forget about the ground that was getting further and further away below him.

**...**

"Damn, damn, damn!" Jen swore and thumped the computer console, making Timothy flinch. "I can't believe we lost another one!" She ran a hand back over her hair, lines of stress and weariness gathering at the corners of her eyes, emphasised by the shadows cast by the dim blue lights in the room.

Timothy didn't look much better, but he managed to keep from swearing. "At least we still have the next two, right?" he pointed out, trying to soothe his colleague. "And we can get some more started soon."

Jen sighed and slumped, leaning against the wall beside the computer. "I know," she replied wearily. "I just hate losing them in the first place, and I hate not knowing -why-, and not being able to stop it happening." As soon as she'd seen the warning signs on the life support monitors, she'd called Timothy in away from the simulators in an effort to save the failing system. It had quickly cascaded out of control though, and now the next bioengineered soldier was little more than a floating mass of dead meat. "Damn it all, Mark's not going to be happy about this. You know how much he wants us to churn them out quickly, quickly."

"I know, I know," Timothy muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "Still, he ought to be grateful for the ones we -do- have so far. Given how little progress we were making before, I think we're doing pretty damn well now, this latest loss notwithstanding."

"Try pointing that out to him," Jen said cynically, pinching at the bridge of her nose. "Bloody hell. I'd better clean this up and let him know, and you'd better get back to the simulators before something -else- goes wrong."

"The sim-- oh, sod it all." Apparently Timothy had forgotten about the trio he'd left in the simulators. He gave Jen an apologetic look, then rushed out of the room.

Jen watched him go, then reluctantly went about cleaning up the latest failure, putting off having to go tell Mark about it for as long as possible.

**...**

"Ow, ow, _ow_."

Lead suppressed a grin as he watched Two gingerly extricate himself from the simulator module's harness, wincing with nearly every movement. "I did warn you," he commented mildly.

Two paused, blinked, then grinned cheekily over at Lead. "That you did. Nothing like learning from personal experience though, right?" He stretched and started pacing, working out the kinks.

"An interesting experience at that, too," One added quietly as he carefully emerged from his own simulator, looking thoughtful. "I can understand still feeling the hits from our mech's corresponding limbs, but... still feeling it in parts we don't even -have- now is just plain weird." He rolled his shoulders and grimaced slightly - he'd taken a rather nasty hit to one wing near the end of the exercises.

"It'll be gone by morning," Lead assured them. "Our brains just need time to catch up and realise it's not actually our bodies that got hurt." He scrutinised the pair carefully, then added, "Let me know if you have anything more than aches though, all right?"

"Will do, bossman," Two replied with another grin and a lazy salute. He rocked back and forth on his heels and looked around. "So, what now?"

"Now..." Lead hesitated for a moment. Timothy had sounded awfully distracted and stressed by the time he'd spoken up again in the simulators, but he hadn't said why he'd disappeared and had just run through the rest of the simulator as normal. He wondered if it had anything to do with the work Jen was doing, but now wasn't the time to speculate. "Now, we head back to our quarters. I'll show you around, get you both settled in, and then we take it easy and relax for a while."

They nodded, and Two gestured grandly with one arm towards the door. "Lead the way, oh fearless leader."


	3. Chapter 3

By the time Jen was done with the clean up, the three brothers were safely settled back in their rooms after their simulator run. She found Mark with Timothy, going over the latest simulator recordings. As she entered the room Timothy glanced over at her and shook his head ever so slightly - he hadn't told Mark yet. She grimaced faintly, then composed herself and went to stand by them.

Mark's attention was intent on the monitor before him, watching the images of the three jets as they worked in tandem to chase down and destroy several other aerial units. Jen waited until the recording had finished and he'd acknowledged her presence before delivering her bad news. "We lost another one," she said shortly. Timothy held his breath and watched apprehensively.

Mark froze for a moment, then his expression darkened. "Lost another one?" He levelled a glare at Jen. "Do we at least know -why-, this time?" Mutely, she shook her head, but didn't drop her gaze. Mark scowled at her, then let out a curse. "Useless, clueless...! Do you have any idea how much this will set us back?!" Jen flinched slightly, but remained where she was.

"We still have the next two, and the current three have been progressing above and beyond the expectations we had for them," Timothy spoke up, attempting to distract his angry colleague. Mark paused, calming down a fraction. "That is true," he replied stiffly after a moment. "They already work very well together. Let us hope they continue to excel." He took a breath and let it out slowly, then looked back at his colleagues. "How long until these next two are ready?"

Timothy glanced over at Jen and let her answer. "The information transfer is mostly complete, but it will still be three or four days for the first, six or seven for the second," she replied quietly.

Mark glowered again. "Not good enough," he snapped. "Accelerate the transfer, I want them both out and functional as soon as that's done, within the next two days." Timothy's jaw dropped, and Jen gaped wordlessly for a moment, eyes wide.

"Two days? That's-- they're not ready yet!" she protested once she found her voice again. "We've already sped up the data transfer as much as possible! And we can't push the physical development any more than we are now - the last one won't even be--"

"As long as they know what they need to and are physically capable of piloting those mechs, I don't care," Mark growled, cutting Jen off. "Our client is delivering the first five AIMs the day after tomorrow, and he wants the pilots attuned and ready for a test run immediately."

"But--" Jen's protest was cut short.

"No arguments! I will -not- lose this client. The AIMs he's providing are state of the art, including the new gestalt tech; I will -not- have him taking his patronage to another facility!" He glared at them both. "Just get it -done-. Get them out, get them through the sims, and get them ready to be attuned to their mechs. Two days." With that, he stormed out of the room, his lab coat flapping behind him.

Jen watched him leave, temporarily speechless, while Timothy finally managed to get his jaw shut again. "Two days..." he murmured, looking up at Jen. "Can we manage that?"

"We'll have to, won't we?" Jen replied with a touch of bitterness. "I just hope we don't lose either of these two as well because we pushed them too fast."

Timothy raised an eyebrow at her. "Speaking of, when do you plan to get them out of the tanks now?"

Jen frowned thoughtfully. "I want to leave them in there as long as possible, give them as much of a chance as we can. So... we'll get them out in thirty-six hours."

"That's pushing it a bit, isn't it?" Timothy asked skeptically. "That won't leave us much time to get them tested and through the simulators."

"Given how quickly the first three picked up on things, I don't think that'll be much of a problem," Jen replied blandly, gesturing to the monitors. "At least, it will be less of a problem than pulling them out too early will be."

Timothy grimaced, then nodded in reluctant agreement. "You have a point." He rubbed a hand down his face and let out a sigh.

"I just wish Mark would see that point, instead of just his grant cheque," Jen grumbled. "He's running us into the ground with all this, and it's still not enough for him."

"We're doing the best we can," Timothy murmured soothingly. "We can't do any more than that."

Jen sighed and took her glasses off to rub at her eyes. "We'll just have to hope that our best is good enough."

**...**

Despite the pressure she was under, Jen still took the time to stop by the three brothers' quarters and check in on them. She paused outside to listen for a moment to make sure they weren't already asleep, then pushed the door open after she heard voices.

Inside, one of the black-haired brothers was standing on the back of a couch, balancing on one foot. He gave a start of surprise when the door opened, then promptly lost his balance and fell off the couch, disappearing behind it. Before anyone could react though he bounced back up with a cheerful, "I'm okay!"

Jen let out her breath, then shook her head wryly. "You're a handful--" She hesitated, and then grimaced slightly. "We really need to give you all -names-."

"Oh, we have names!" The one who'd just fallen off the couch vaulted over the back and bonelessly plunked down into it. "I'm Wing Two, he's Wing One, and the big bossman's our Fearless Wingleader." He gestured in turn to his companions, grinning widely.

Said fearless leader just sighed and gave Jen an apologetic look from the armchair he was occupying. "Not the greatest names, I know, but they work well enough for now."

"Hm." Jen resisted the urge to reply that those were just callsigns, not names. "We'll figure out something a little more suitable later, I suppose." She leaned against the side of the door and eyed them all carefully. "How're you all doing?"

"We're doing pretty good," Lead replied with a faint smile, and the other two nodded in agreement. "Simulator run went well, and we're feeling good. Some aches, as normal, but that doesn't seem to be slowing us down any." The last bit he added dryly, eyeing Two, who just grinned unrepentantly and flexed an arm.

"Can't keep us down for long!"

"Apparently not," Jen replied wryly, the corner of her mouth quirking in weary amusement. "Well, get some rest, boys, it's going to be busy over the next few days." She sighed and pinched at the bridge of her nose.

Lead eyed her for a moment, brow creased with faint worry. "Timothy disappeared from the simulators for a while earlier, and you look stressed out; what happened?"

Jen straightened up and blinked in surprise, then offered him a smile that attempted to be reassuring and fell just slightly short of the mark. "Nothing that any of you need to worry about," she replied. "Just look after yourselves, all right? I probably won't see you much over the next few days, so just... take care, and focus on your training. You'll probably need it soon."

Lead nodded, still frowning, but before he could ask anything else Jen nodded to each of them and slipped out of the door with a final, "Good night."

There was silence for a few moments after she'd left, then One spoke up carefully from where he was curled up in one of the armchairs. "Did that come across as a little... odd to anyone else?"

"Just a bit," Lead replied dryly, still frowning. "Something must've happened. She's been working awfully hard lately."

"Well, not much we can do 'bout whatever's goin' on," Two pointed out, his head hanging off the edge of the couch and his legs draped up over the back of it, apparently quite comfortable in that strange position. "So no point worrying 'bout it, yeah?"

"He has a point," One added quietly. "There's very little we can do, so we might as well just follow her advice." He gave a lopsided little smile. "I for one don't mind admitting that some sleep sounds good about now."

Two snickered, idly kicking one foot up and down over the back of the couch. "Weak," he drawled, then yawned mightily. "Don't say a word."

One just chuckled and hauled himself out of his chair. "Wouldn't dream of it. Goodnight." He tossed off a casual salute, then ambled over to the room he'd claimed as his own and disappeared inside.

Two yawned again, then slithered ungracefully off the couch and rolled back up to his feet with a faint wince. "Think I might follow his lead," he commented, stretching, then raised an eyebrow when he noticed his leader frowning off into space. "Hey, fearless leader!" Lead blinked and looked up, and Two grinned at him. "Stop worrying so much 'bout whatever you're worrying 'bout and get some shuteye too, yeah?"

Lead nodded and quirked a little smile. "Right, right. I'll see you in the morning." Two gave him a thumbs-up, then headed off to his own room, leaving his leader alone with his thoughts. They occupied him for a while, but finally he shook his head and did his best to dismiss them for now. The others were right - there wasn't anything he could do except look after himself and his brothers. He sighed and hauled himself up out of his armchair, then headed off to get what sleep he could.

**...**

The lab was dim, lit only by the glow from several computer screens and the soft blue lights that were focused on several large cylindrical tanks. The tanks were gathered in a circle in the middle of the lab, with the computers that monitored their contents lined up against the walls. At the moment, only two of the tanks were occupied, full of a slightly cloudy, bubble-laced liquid. Suspended in that liquid were two figures, curled up in the foetal position, with a tangle of wires leading from patches on their heads, necks and backs to the tops of their tanks.

Jen stood by one of the computers, her brow furrowed as she scanned the readings on the screen. Everything was normal there though, so she turned her attention to the tanks themselves and the precious contents they held, letting her mind wander briefly.

A noise near the door of the lab made Jen look over, and she let out a huff of breath as she spotted Timothy enter. "There you are."

Timothy gave her an apologetic grimace as he headed over to stand beside her. "Sorry, Jen. Mark wanted the latest data compilation from the simulators." He rubbed one hand down his face and let out a sigh.

Jen raised an eyebrow. "At this time of night?" She paused, then added, "Well, morning now."

"We're not the only ones working late tonight, it seems," Timothy replied with a faint grin. "Or early. He really wants to make a good impression on our client." He shrugged, then looked over at the tanks and their peacefully floating contents. "How're they progressing?"

"As well as can be expected." She glanced back at the computers again. "Data transfer is complete for both of them. Physically, they're acceptable as well. Though they're not as far along as I'd like, especially the second one, but..." She sighed and shrugged. "That can't really be helped."

Timothy eyed the two tanks clinically. "They both look fine to me." He gently patted her on the shoulder. "Don't worry about it, Jen, we did as much as we could. Now if everything's ready, let's get the extraction procedure started."

Jen hesitated a moment, then shook her head slightly and turned towards the computers. "Right." Timothy followed suit, and the two worked silently for a few minutes before Jen suddenly spoke up again. "We should name them," she commented. "It's so impersonal, not having anything to call them."

Timothy paused and frowned admonishingly at her. "You know what Mark said. They're just soldiers. You're not supposed to get attached to them, Jen."

She let out a little noise of exasperation. "I know, I know. It's just so awkward trying to talk to them when I don't know what to address them as." She levelled a finger at Timothy before he could do more than open his mouth. "And those call signs the others adopted are -not- names."

Timothy wisely bit back whatever he was about to say and just shrugged. "Well, they'll have to do for now. It doesn't seem to bother them much, at least."

"But it bothers -me-," Jen muttered, stabbing at one of the buttons on the console, and Timothy raised an eyebrow.

"Why are you getting so worked up about it now, Jen?" he asked, eyeing her with idle curiosity. "I mean, you didn't even consider anything about naming any of them before. Why now?"

Jen paused and frowned thoughtfully. "I suppose because, back then, I didn't expect them to all be so... different," she replied, looking back at the tanks. "They all started off with similar genetic code, after all, and yet they turned out nothing like each other at all." She gestured vaguely with her hands. "They look different, they act different; they have their own -personalities-, Tim. They're not just carbon copy wind-up clone soldiers like Mark wants -- like I initially thought they'd be. They're people, and people should have names."

"... You really -are- getting far too attached to them." He turned his attention back to his console. "Forget about it, Jen. Let's just get all this done, then we can leave them in Mark's hands, get some -real- sleep, and let -him- stress about things for a while."

"Leaving them in Mark's hands is what I'm worried about," Jen muttered, but not loud enough for Timothy to hear. She glanced back at the tanks, then gave her head a little shake and focused her attention on the job at hand.

**...**

Several hours later, Mark stood in the simulator control deck and watched the recordings of the two newest pilots as they were put through their paces. Beside him, Timothy slouched in his chair, clutching a cup of coffee like a lifeline. A moment later Jen entered the room, absently running one hand back over her hair to keep it out of her face.

"Status?" Mark asked, not bothering to look away from the screens.

Jen shot him a dark look, but kept her voice neutral as she replied. "Nominal," she said shortly. "They passed their tests, obviously, though the first one seems to be easily distracted and loses focus, and the second has trouble with light sensitivity."

"As long as it doesn't adversely affect their simulator performances, that's none of my concern." Mark continued to watch the monitors, frowning slightly. "They seem to be doing well enough so far, though I don't like how erratic the flying of that one is. Fix it."

Jen bit back a scathing remark and took a breath, then let it out slowly and nodded. "We'll work on it." In the background, Timothy rolled his eyes.

"See that you do." Mark finally looked over at Jen. "Once this simulator run is done, get the others and take them all to the hangar. The AIMs are ready, so we'll start the attunement as soon as you're there. Our client's representative will be there to oversee the process." This time, Jen didn't bother trying to protest that they were moving too fast, pushing too hard. As long as he got his results, Mark didn't care at what cost they came. She merely nodded her acquiescence.

Mark eyed her for a moment, then his expression softened slightly. "I know you've both been working exceptionally hard lately. But once this is done and the money's in, we'll be able to hire a few more people to help out, start expanding the place." As Jen and Timothy stared at him, somewhat dumbstruck, Mark regained his more normal glower. "But that's no reason to slack off now." He twitched his shoulders irritably and strode out of the room.

Once he was gone, Jen flopped down into a chair beside Timothy and let out a weary sigh. She watched the monitors and listened with half her attention as Timothy directed the two new pilots through their objectives. One of the jets really was flying erratically - it'd be on course, then suddenly dip or swerve without any warning or reason. It still managed to take out most of its targets, and what it missed its partner picked up. The second jet was quick and nimble, and its shots hit with near-unerring accuracy.

Finally the two ran out of targets, and Timothy said, "All right, let's wrap it up. Go through your power-down sequences, then wait outside your modules. Good work."

Jen shook herself from her reverie and stood up again with a weary sigh. "I guess that's my cue to go get them then," she murmured.

Timothy offered her a sympathetic little half-smile. "I'll have the coffee ready for when you get back."

"Thanks, Tim." She smiled faintly and left to go fetch the newest pilots from the simulator room.

**...**

The three brothers were getting ready to leave their quarters for their afternoon simulator run when the door opened and Jen entered, ushering two rather bewildered looking newcomers in before her. "You get a room each here," Jen was saying, apparently continuing an earlier thread of conversation. "And these three are your brothers. I'll let them make introductions later." She briefly patted both of them on the shoulder, then went up to the very surprised-looking wingleader. "Sorry about barging in like this, but things are progressing rather quickly," she explained with an apologetic and frazzled look. "No simulator run for you lot this afternoon - our client delivered the first five AIMs earlier today, so I'm taking you all down to the hangar now for the attunement process."

Lead blinked as he absorbed that information, while Two let out a little whoop of excitement at the news. Jen ignored him and continued with barely a pause for breath, though she lowered her voice so the others wouldn't be able to hear her. "Keep an eye on these two new ones as best you can, all right? They were only woken up early this morning, we had to rush them through the testing and their first simulator run so they'd be ready in time for this." She grimaced unhappily, then shook her head. "So they're still a little... lost."

"I understand," he replied quietly. "Don't worry, I'll look after them."

Jen gave him a grateful little smile, then turned to face the rest of the group. "All right, we're heading down to the hangar now. Our client, who's the one who made all this possible in the first place, will have a representative there, so behave yourselves." She levelled a stare at Two especially when she said this, who merely did his best to look innocent. "Just follow orders and you'll all do fine." She headed for the door, gesturing for the rest to follow her.

As they followed after Jen through the corridors of the facility, Lead took the opportunity to look over his two newest brothers. The first one was slightly shorter than One and Two, with fiery red hair and a slender build. His bright blue eyes looked around with curious wonder, and his expression was open and friendly. The second was almost a full head shorter than the redhead, and he looked lanky and a little unfinished, like he hadn't quite managed to finish growing yet. His hair was a pale blond that was almost white, and he glanced around warily with narrowed eyes, squinting a little.

"Wow. You're short," Two commented as they walked, looking down at the smaller of the two newcomers.

"Yeah? And you're ugly," he shot back, bristling slightly. "You wanna make an issue of it?"

Two blinked at the retort, then laughed and shook his head. "Nah, not at all. Just making an observation. I think I like you, bro."

"Oh, joy," the short blond muttered sarcastically with a roll of his eyes.

"Hush," Jen admonished them both as the group approached a pair of double doors at the end of the corridor. "We're here. Remember, behave." She looked them over, then smoothed her hair back with one hand before punching a code into the keypad beside the double doors. They beeped and hissed open, and Jen lead them through into the hangar on the other side.

The hangar was massive, several stories tall, with a smooth cement floor and arching metal roof supports high overhead. Bright lights hung from the roof supports, spotlighting the five gunmetal-grey mechs standing in a motionless line down the middle of the hangar. There were subtle differences in the configuration of each mech, but they all looked sleek and deadly, ready to transform and take to the skies. Jen sucked her breath in slightly at the sight, taking a moment to absorb it, then she looked back to see how her charges were reacting.

They all wore various expressions of wide-eyed wonder, and the redhead let out a soft "Wow...". Seeing the dull, plain black mechs in the simulator runs was absolutely no comparison to seeing the real deal. Especially since they all knew that soon they'd be part of those sleek, powerful machines, and for a moment Jen felt a twinge of envy.

"Which one's mine?" Two suddenly piped up, breaking everyone from their reverie. Five pairs of eager blue eyes were immediately riveted on Jen.

"You'll be assigned your mechs when Mark arrives," Jen told them, glancing around with a faint frown. "He should be here already..."

Movement towards one end of the hangar drew her attention, and as Jen turned to look she spotted Mark approaching from another set of doors further down, accompanied by a tall, lithe man who walked with easy, swaggering confidence. He was wearing something that wasn't quite a military uniform and wasn't quite a business suit, all in dark blue-grey. Straight black hair was slicked back, not a strand out of place, and his gaze was cool and calculating.

"... So as you saw, they're ready and fully capable," Mark was saying as the two moved into earshot, their footsteps echoing dully in the large space.

"My boss is pleased with the recordings and data you've provided so far," the stranger replied in a voice that grated on the ears and the nerves, sounding almost bored. "I, however, am not convinced that your little toy soldiers can perform so well outside a simulated setting."

"I assure you, they'll perform just as well in the field as they do in the simulators," Mark assured the stranger as they halted nearby. "For now though, I'd like to introduce you to Doctor Jen Vonel, our main bioengineer on this project. Doctor Vonel, this is Christopher Attson, our client's liason."

"Good to meet you, sir," Jen replied to the introduction with a polite nod.

"A pleasure, I'm sure," Attson drawled, smirking faintly for a moment before he turned his attention to the five pilots standing behind Jen. "And these are your soldiers?" Jen nodded, and Attson eyed them critically. "Hm. Not much to look at, are they?"

"We were focusing on performance, not appearance," Jen replied, her tone frosty. Behind her she heard them shift uneasily, and she took a moment to glance back and flash the brothers a brief, reassuring smile.

"Of course, of course," Attson replied smoothly. "Commendable. We'll see how well they perform, then." He turned back to Mark. "My boss has organised a... trial run for tonight. If you think your pilots are up to it, that is."

Mark straightened slightly. "They're up to it."

"But... a night run? Right after attunement?" Jen murmured, and Mark shot her a dark glare.

Attson turned to give Jen a smile that was more of a smirk. "Think of it as a... crash course. My boss wants to ensure that this venture is worth continued funding."

"We'd best get started then," Mark said firmly. "No point in wasting time." He pulled a small datapad out of his pocket and consulted it for a moment, then gestured perfunctorily from Lead to the largest mech. "You, to that one." He did the same with the rest, then once each pilot was assigned to a mech, he pocketed the datapad again and stood back. "Suit up. You should all know what to do."

Jen moved out of the way, then watched as the five approached their mechs with varying amounts of eagerness. Wheeled ladders had already been placed by each mech, leading up to the cockpits within their chests. One by one they disappeared inside their mechs, the hatches hissing closed behind them, and Jen found herself holding her breath.

Nothing happened.

She glanced over at Mark and Attson, who were both standing and watching the mechs. Mark was frowning slightly, while Attson merely looked bored. Jen looked back at the mechs, and silently wondered what was going on.


	4. Chapter 4

Inside the largest mech, Lead settled himself into the harness and helmet and listened to the hatch hiss closed, waiting for the return of his vision and feedback as it normally happened in the simulators. Instead, the world remained dark, and a feeling of something sizing him up crept over him. A moment later, someone spoke - or at least, he thought they spoke. It was less actual words, and more an impression of thoughts and ideas being directed straight to his mind.

_Who are you?_

For a moment he was confused, and then he realised -- it was the mech itself communicating with him. This wasn't a mere simulation, it was -real-, and the mech had its own vague awareness, its own kind of consciousness. The realisation of this briefly staggered him, leaving him unable to come up with any sort of coherent thought.

Again, the gentle impressions came. _Who are you?_

"I..." He didn't speak out loud - he knew, somehow, that he didn't need to. "I am wingleader."

_That is not a name._ The mech was silent for a moment, seemingly in thought. _I am -- we are Silverbolt. I share my name with you._

"Silverbolt." He liked that. It felt right, somehow. "Thank you."

_You are welcome. I accept you. We are partners. It is done._

And his vision and senses finally sprang back to life.

**...**

One by one, the mechs came to life, optics lighting up with a steady blue glow as they straightened up from their dormant slouches. Jen let out the breath she'd been holding as she watched them flex their hands, roll their shoulders, and idly shift their weight from foot to foot. They were suddenly more than just machines being driven or piloted - they were beings in their own right, ones with distinct personalities and mannerisms. For a moment she felt that twinge of envy again, but she consoled herself with the fact that she'd helped to bring these beings to life.

Mark gave a satisfied nod as the last mech straightened up and looked around, but before he could say anything Attson stepped forwards, suddenly all business. "Identify yourselves."

All five mechs focused their attention on him, and then the largest one nodded slightly and shifted the ladder beside him away before taking a step forward. "I am Silverbolt." Jen recognised the voice, even though it now had a mechanical reverb from being filtered through the mech, and she smiled to herself. He finally had a name, odd as it was.

The second mech stepped forward, his voice and mannerisms quiet and unassuming. "My name is Skydive."

"I'm Air Raid!" The third mech grinned and struck a pose, and Jen had to stifle a sudden giggle at the ridiculousness of it.

The smallest mech didn't bother stepping forward, and just cocked his weight over one leg and planted his hands on his hips. "Slingshot."

Jen turned her attention to the last mech, who seemed fascinated by his own hands. It took a moment for him to realise what was going on, or perhaps one of the others prompted him over their private comms. "Oh! Right. I'm Fireflight, I think."

Attson raised an eyebrow, but didn't bother to comment. He just eyed the five mechs, then nodded sharply. "Acceptable, I suppose." He turned back to Mark, who was looking rather pleased with himself. "So. With your permission, I'd like to take these boys out for that test flight. If you believe they're ready, of course."

"They're ready," Mark replied firmly. "I'm confident they'll perform above and beyond your expectations."

"Oh, I'm sure they will," Attson replied smoothly, then added in an undertone, "Especially since my expectations are so low."

Mark either didn't hear that last comment, or chose to ignore it. "So where will this test of yours be taking place?"

"Elsewhere." Attson idly waved one hand. "We have a suitable testing ground set up, somewhere inconspicuous. We don't want to draw too much attention just yet. I shall lead them there myself - my own mech is waiting nearby."

Mark looked surprised. "You have a mech?"

Attson gave him a sardonic smile. "Of course. Who better to assess the performance of these new pilots than another pilot, mm?" He dismissed the matter with a wave of his hand. "Have them meet me at the following coordinates, and I shall take them from there." He rattled off a set of numbers, which Mark scrambled to key into his datapad.

"I have them," Skydive's quiet voice rolled in from above. "The coordinates, I mean. I'll remember them." Mark looked dubious, but he pocketed his datapad again anyway.

Attson smirked faintly. "An intellectual, I see. Interesting." He gestured towards the large hangar doors that led outside. "Go on then. Wait for me there." He didn't bother waiting for a reply and just strolled off, with Mark hurrying behind him. The hangar doors slowly rolled open, revealing twilight sky outside.

The five mechs started towards the doors, but Silverbolt hesitated and looked back at Jen, causing the others to pause as well. She smiled and waved them off. "Go on. Just be careful out there, all right?"

"We will," Silverbolt assured her. "We'll see you later, then." They made their way outside, and one by one hurled themselves into the sky and transformed, the roar of their engines echoing through the hangar. Jen watched them leave, and found herself wondering if this was how mothers felt when their children finally left home for the first time. She sighed and shook her head, annoyed with herself. Timothy had been right -- she -was- getting far too attached. With a last glance at the piece of darkening sky visible through the doors, she left the hangar.

**...**

Air Raid whooped and barrel-rolled as they climbed, enjoying the sheer freedom of flight, and his exuberant voice came over their internal comms. " _Whoo! This is the life!_ "

Slingshot was close behind him, with Fireflight and Skydive further back and Silverbolt bringing up the rear. Slingshot kicked in his afterburners and attempted to overtake Air Raid, but he was having none of it, and the two started jostling for the lead.

" _Hey, back off, tiny!_ "

" _I'd like to see you make me!_ "

" _Rein it in, guys,_ " Silverbolt admonished them, though there was a touch of amusement in his voice. " _Skydive, take point, since you know where we're going. Keep in formation, everyone. We're out here to make a good impression, remember._ " There was a chorus of assent in reply, albeit some of it was somewhat reluctant. Air Raid and Slingshot dropped back to either side of Skydive, while Fireflight settled in off Slingshot's wing, and Silverbolt fell in behind Air Raid. The air was cloudless, with the setting sun off their port wings painting the sky from gold to red to a deep purple-blue.

As they continued to climb higher to reach optimal cruising altitude, Silverbolt made the mistake of looking down, and saw the ground getting further and further away. He was immediately gripped with a familiar terror, except he'd never felt it so intensely before. He couldn't shake it off or ignore it as he had in the simulators. This was no simulation; this was real, far too real, and part of his mind was screaming at him that the ground was much too distant and that he had to get down -now-. He wobbled slightly, fighting the urge to dive, but not even focusing his thoughts on his brothers could distract him from that overwhelming fear.

The only thing that kept him level in his path instead of diving for the deck was the reassurance of his own mech, a constant, steady presence in the back of his mind. _Do not fear. You are not alone._ It gave him the strength to finally shove the terror off to one side and keep in control, though it was a tough struggle. For a moment he barely registered that his brothers were talking, but once he did he clung to their conversation like a lifeline, focusing on it and trying very hard not to think of how very, very far away the ground was.

" _\-- it's just so -pretty-,_ " Fireflight was saying, the wonder apparent in his voice. " _All the colours, and the sunlight, and-- everything!_ " He started drifting off to one side, engrossed with the view. " _And it's not even full daylight -- just think what it'll look like from up here when the sun's actually up!_ "

" _Try not to let the view distract you too much,_ " Silverbolt spoke up, keeping his voice carefully controlled as he tried -not- to think of what it'd look like. " _You're drifting, Fireflight._ "

" _Oh, right. Sorry, 'Bolt,_ " Fireflight replied a little sheepishly as he corrected himself. " _It's just... wow._ "

Air Raid laughed and barrel rolled again for the hell of it, though he kept in formation. " _Especially seeing it for the first time, hey?_ "

" _We're seeing pretty much everything for the first time,_ " Slingshot pointed out blandly, and Silverbolt was reminded that he and Fireflight hadn't even been awake for twenty-four hours yet. No wonder Fireflight was so distracted; it was a lot to absorb in such a short time.

" _Speaking of which,_ " Silverbolt said carefully, " _Slingshot, Fireflight. How are you two holding up, anyway?_ "

" _Me?_ " Slingshot rolled slightly from side to side in an approximation of a shrug. " _Fine. Just fine._ " He snickered and added cockily, " _Never better, in fact, though I'm sure I'll just keep on improving._ "

" _I'm doing all right,_ " Fireflight added. " _It's all a little confusing, and I don't really know what's going on, but I do know that I really like flying._ "

" _As do we all,_ " Skydive replied with gentle humour.

" _Even if you seem incapable of flying a straight line, 'Flight,_ " Air Raid commented teasingly.

Fireflight let out an 'eep' and corrected his course - he'd started drifting again. " _Whoops. Sorry._ "

Air Raid chuckled, but he was prevented from making any more comments by Skydive suddenly speaking up. " _We're nearing the rendezvous,_ " he said, just as Silverbolt's scanners picked up on another jet ahead and at a much higher altitude. Apparently Skydive's had picked up on it too, for he added, " _That must be him now._ "

His guess was quickly proved correct. " _About time you all got here._ " Attson's voice crackled over the comm, distorted slightly by his own mech but still nerve-grating. " _Your objective is at the following coordinates._ " He transmitted the coordinates, and the group adjusted their course towards them. " _The target is an armoured bunker, guarded by ground units._ " He started shadowing the team, keeping his distance high above. All Silverbolt could see of Attson's mech was a faint, winged silhouette against the darkening, star-speckled sky. " _Do not engage in ground combat - this is strictly a hit and run. Although this is just a training run to test your capabilities, there -will- be live fire. Do try not to get hit, these things take time to fix their own damage, and are expensive to repair more extensively._ "

" _Will you be joining us in this?_ " Silverbolt asked, privately wondering how Attson had managed to get ahead of them. Granted, they hadn't been flying at top speed, but Attson must have pushed hard to manage it nonetheless.

Attson let out a snort. " _It wouldn't be much of a test at all if you had me helping you,_ " he replied loftily. " _I'm here strictly for observational purposes. Once you've destroyed your target, head back to the previous rendezvous point first before returning to base._ "

Silverbolt thought that was a little odd, but he didn't question the orders. " _Understood._ "

" _Good. Do try to give me something worth observing._ " With that, the comm. connection was cut, and the team were left to continue towards the target.

**...**

Once he'd cut communications with the five mechs flying below him, Attson opened up another comm. channel -- one that was far more secure. " _The turkeys are inbound. Are you in position?_ "

" _Affirmative,_ " came the reply, the voice bland and toneless. " _Commencing communications jamming._ "

" _Excellent. Keep me informed._ "

" _Acknowledged._ " The connection cut out, and Attson continued to shadow the five jets flying far below.

**...**

The sun had finally sunk out of sight behind the horizon, leaving the sky to be lit only by the stars. A sleek, black and white car with police decals sat near an armoured bunker, its lights off but its engine rumbling quietly. The reflective windows and windscreen hid the interior of the police car from the view of anyone outside, though there weren't any people at all in the general area. Three other vehicles were parked at intervals around the bunker, all with the same reflective windows and windscreens. Other bunkers were located nearby, dark shadows against the ground.

"Nice night, isn't it." The voice that emanated from the streamlined blue sports car was smooth and cultured, with a touch of mechanical reverb.

Nearby, the small, chubby red car let out a snicker. "It'd be better if I had something to fight, Tracks."

"Ahh, pipe down," the black pickup truck drawled. "The less fightin' we have to do, the better."

"But I haven't fought anything in -weeks-, Ironhide! I'm going outta my mind with boredom!"

"Hush, Cliffjumper," the police car suddenly commanded, tyres crunching against gravel as it shifted a little. "Everyone, listen."

The rest fell silent, but after a moment Cliffjumper spoke up again. "What is it, Prowl?"

"Jets," Prowl replied coolly. "Can't you hear them?" Indeed, there was the faint sound of powerful engines roaring through the sky, swiftly getting louder as the jets drew closer.

"I got 'em on scanners," Ironhide spoke up, though he sounded a little puzzled. "They're not pinging as Seekers, though..."

Prowl shifted again and opened a comm. line back to base -- or at least, tried to. All he got was static. "We're being jammed -- take cover!"

The four vehicles immediately scattered in different directions, parts shifting and realigning as they transformed and dove for cover. A moment later the ground around the main bunker was torn up by strafing laser fire as two jets roared overhead, the hot glow of their engines leaving faint orange trails in the night. The four on the ground swiftly returned fire, but a moment later they had to duck for cover again as three missiles hit the bunker in quick succession and exploded spectacularly, spraying dirt and shrapnel everywhere. The bunker itself wasn't yet penetrated, but three more jets roared by overhead and started to bank around for another pass, even as the first two lined up for a second strafing run.

"Cliffjumper, Tracks, take the strafers! Ironhide, the second three!" Prowl ordered sharply. "Break up their formations!"

The first two jets started their strafing run, but they had to break off and peel away in opposite directions to avoid concentrated fire from Tracks and Cliffjumper. "Bring it on!" Cliffjumper yelled, making a rude gesture at the jets' backs.

Meanwhile, Ironhide had taken a bead on the second three jets, and let loose with a volley from both of his arm cannons. The three swiftly split up, two banking to one side while the largest went the opposite way, but Prowl was sure that he'd seen at least a couple of shots land. He fired a few carefully-aimed shots of his own at the largest jet, and was rewarded with at least two hits. The jet faltered for a moment, then accelerated out of range.

The two jets that had peeled away from Ironhide's fire banked around and made a run at Tracks and Cliffjumper, forcing them to take cover again. Meanwhile, the first pair of jets swept in in a pincer movement, strafing at Ironhide from either side. The large black mech was rocked by several laser blasts, staggering and nearly falling over before he recovered his balance. By the time he'd recovered and levelled his weapons again though, all four jets were out of range and climbing to join the fifth.

The four on the ground held their weapons ready and watched the jets warily as they circled overhead, dark shadows trailing tails of flame against the night sky. Prowl frowned and tried to figure out what they were doing -- it looked like they were lining up for another run, but they were much too high.

"Get down here and fight like real warriors!" Cliffjumper yelled up at circling jets, even though there was no way they could have heard him. "Slagging cowards!"

Almost as if in reply, four of the jets started to dive, raining a barrage of laserfire down at them. What it lacked in aim it more than made up for in volume, and once again the four on the ground were forced to take cover. A moment later, Prowl realised what was happening. The smallest jet, still high above and covered by his strafing wingmates, let off a pair of missiles. Two tiny specks of flame leapt away from it and dove straight for the bunker, moving almost too fast to see.

"Hit the deck!" Prowl yelled, swiftly taking what little shelter he could. The missiles hit the bunker squarely and detonated, breaking into the bunker itself. A large gout of flame shot upwards just before the bunker and its contents exploded, spraying the area with shrapnel and debris. Prowl felt some of it ping off his armour, leaving nasty dents and scrapes in the tough metal. From some of the curses he could just make out, he wasn't the only one to have taken some shrapnel damage.

Now that the bunker was destroyed, the five jets took off without any further exchanges of firepower, the sound of their engines gradually fading away into the night. Once they were well gone, Prowl straightened up and surveyed the damage. The bunker they'd been guarding was nothing but a large hole in the ground that still spewed fire and smoke. He let out a sigh, the doorwings behind his shoulders twitching in irritation. "Status?" he called out to the others, carefully picking his way through the debris towards them.

"No major damage," Ironhide was the first to reply, his weapons still out and gradually winding down. He had several laser scores and burns, along with shrapnel damage from the bunker, but he shrugged them off. "Took some hits, but it's gonna take more than what they had to get through -my- armour."

Prowl looked him over, then nodded and looked at Cliffjumper. The small red mech sported a few laser scores of his own, and was brushing soot and dust off and muttering to himself. "Slagging bastards didn't even stick around for a -proper- fight," he complained.

"Be careful what you wish for. You might just get it. Again," Tracks told Cliffjumper blandly as he eyed his own scorches, dents and scrapes. "They did a real number on my finish. I'll be polishing all these scuffs out for -weeks-."

Prowl let out another faint sigh. At least nobody was seriously damaged, even if the bunker and its contents were a complete loss. "Back to base, then," he said. "No point in us wasting anymore time here."

Tracks was the first to transform, eager to get back to base and start the tedious process of fixing up his finish. Ironhide shook himself off, then dropped down onto his tyres as he transformed with an uncomfortable-sounding grinding of gears. "What the slag was that all about, anyway?"

"Yeah, why would anyone want to blow up a bunker full of parts?" Cliffjumper added as he transformed as well. "Stealing, that'd make sense, but just plain exploding them? What's the point of that?"

Prowl could only shake his head before he transformed into his own alternate mode and revved his engine, pulling away from the bunker as the others fell in behind him. "I wish I knew."

**...**

" _Told you I could hit it from up there._ " Slingshot sounded very smug as the five jets roared through the night, heading back to the original rendezvous point.

" _Hah! Lucky shot,_ " Air Raid retorted. " _Bet you won't be able to pull something like that off again_."

Slingshot's reply was cocky and confident. " _Oh, you're on. I can hit anything from anywhere, just you wait and see._ "

Silverbolt focused on their conversation and continued to shove the fear to the back of his mind. It hadn't been so bad during the actual fight, when his attention had been taken up by all the action, but now that he was doing nothing but flying again it was creeping back in. The fact that it was night and he couldn't see the ground was helping a little, at least.

" _That was fun,_ " Air Raid was continuing. " _I just wish I'd been able to get more up and in their faces_."

" _You still have a strange sense of fun,_ " Skydive commented dryly. " _Getting 'in their faces' isn't exactly sound strategy, unless you're -trying- to get shot._ "

Air Raid laughed. " _It'd be worth it though._ " He rolled lazily as he cruised along. " _Especially since they wouldn't be expecting it._ "

Skydive's comment jolted Silverbolt's memory, and he mentally cursed himself for getting distracted in the first place. " _Speaking of getting shot, what are your damage reports?_ " he asked. The patches on his own underside where the black and white mech on the ground had landed a couple of hits on him stung, but the damage was mostly just superficial, and his own systems were already working on repairs.

" _A couple of grazes, but no real damage here,_ " Skydive reported in quietly.

" _That's 'cause you're too careful, 'Dive,_ " Air Raid commented with another laugh. " _Take some risks sometime, yeah?_ "

" _I'd rather be careful and keep myself intact, Raider,_ " Skydive replied wryly. " _How much damage did you take, hm?_ "

" _Not enough to worry me. I'm still in one piece, aren't I?_ "

Silverbolt let out a sigh. " _How bad, Air Raid?_ "

Air Raid tilted from side to side a bit. " _I'm fine, fearless leader,_ " he replied reassuringly. " _A few hits, yeah, but nothing more than surface damage. Honest!_ " he added when Silverbolt made a dubious sound.

Silverbolt decided to take his word for it for now and turned his attention to Slingshot and Fireflight. " _Sling, Flight? Any damage?_ "

" _None here,_ " Slingshot said. " _I'm not as reckless as some I could mention._ "

" _Reckless nothing, you're just too small for them to hit,_ " Air Raid shot back at the dig.

" _I'd rather be small than get shot!_ "

" _You can fix getting shot, you can't fix being tiny!_ "

" _Pipe down, guys,_ " Silverbolt broke in with a weary sigh before Slingshot could retaliate. " _Flight?_ "

" _Hm? Oh, right!_ " Fireflight shook himself out of his reverie. " _A couple of shots came close, but they didn't hit me,_ " he replied, sounding pleased with himself.

Air Raid snickered and teased, " _That's because you don't fly in a straight line, 'Flight. They can't hit you when they don't know where you're going._ "

" _I'm not going to complain._ " Fireflight did however straighten his course out again from where he'd been drifting off. " _Hey, 'Bolt, what about you? Did you get hit at all?_ "

" _A couple of times,_ " Silverbolt admitted reluctantly after a moment. " _Nothing major though. I'm fine._ "

" _That sounds familiar,_ " Air Raid drawled as Slingshot snickered. " _Good to know our fearless leader can be just as stoic as the rest of us._ "

Silverbolt didn't bother replying. He just continued leading his brothers home, and silently wished he was as fearless as Air Raid insisted on calling him.

**...**

As the five jets below him headed on home, Attson opened up another comm. channel. " _The mission was a success, oh mighty leader._ "

" _I expected no less_." The reply was cool, the voice deep and harsh. " _And the Biotech people?_ "

" _Completely clueless. They believe it was merely a training run that we set up._ "

" _See to it that they continue to believe that._ " There was a pause before the voice continued. " _Your opinion on these pilots?_ "

" _Green. Inexperienced,_ " Attson replied promptly, then added after a moment with some reluctance, " _but they seem capable enough."_

The voice took on a mocking tone. " _Do I detect a hint of jealousy, Starscream?_ "

" _Me? Jealous? Of those manufactured, artificial excuses for pilots?_ " Attson -- Starscream -- let out a derisive snort. " _Hardly. Outside of their little world of mechs and simulators, they're utterly clueless._ "

" _All the better for us. The less they know, the less likely they'll be to question what we tell them._ "

" _And the longer we can use them on these little 'training runs' of ours._ " Starscream snickered. " _I have to admit, I do so enjoy watching someone else do the work for once._ "

" _That doesn't surprise me,_ " came the dry response. " _Unfortunately for you, you still have work of your own to do. Get back to the Biotech labs and continue overseeing the operations there. Don't forget to check in regularly -- Soundwave will inform you of your next target._ "

" _Roger that._ " Starscream was silent for a moment before he spoke up again. " _What should I do about the Biotech people asking about the gestalt tech?_ "

" _Stall them. Tell them that you're not certain that the pilots are ready for it yet. After all, it -is- new and incredibly experimental. We wouldn't want to lose any of these new pilots so soon, now would we?_ " The voice practically oozed sarcasm.

Starscream laughed nastily. " _Oh, of course not. Though I would love to see the Constructicons' expressions if they heard you calling them 'incredibly experimental'._ "

" _Considering some of their habits, that description is probably more apt than you realise._ " The voice became business-like again. " _Keep your mind on the job, Starscream. I want every scrap of data you can get. Do not fail me._ "

  
Starscream replied even as the connection cut out. " _As you wish, mighty Megatron._ "


	5. Chapter 5

Once they'd all gotten back to base, Prowl made sure the others paid Wheeljack and Ratchet a visit, then left his own mech with Wheeljack before heading off to the command centre. The command centre was a massive room, clearly built for beings much larger than humans. The walls were lined with huge monitors, with matching consoles beneath them. One corner of the room had been set up with more human-sized consoles, monitors, and chairs, though their layout matched that of their larger versions. The main source of illumination was the light that came from those huge screens on the walls, which occasionally flickered and shifted and cast everything in hues of blue and white and grey.

Prowl made his way to his own small station and sat down with a weary sigh, the pale light from his main monitor washing over him. Two of the other smaller consoles were currently occupied, though the main one and a few others remained empty.

"So, what actually happened out there?" The occupant of the next console over kicked one leg out and sent his chair rolling across the floor, coming to rest next to Prowl. "Your explanation over the comm. was a li'l on the terse side." The communications jamming had dropped soon after the attack had finished, so Prowl had been able to radio in and give a brief description of what had happened.

Prowl didn't answer straight away, instead glancing around the room for a moment. "Where's Prime, Jazz?" he asked. "I'd rather not repeat myself if I don't have to."

"The bossman'll be here in a few minutes," Jazz replied, tilting his head down to peer at Prowl over the top of the blue wraparound sunglasses he constantly wore. He pointed with his thumb over one shoulder at the console and its occupant on the other side of the section. "Red's been goin' nuts trying to find out how they managed t'get the location of the bunker."

"I heard that, Jazz," Red Alert, their security director, replied coolly from his station. "And I have not been 'going nuts', as you say. I am merely somewhat frustrated by my inability so far to figure out how they got that information."

"Frustrated enough t'let out some rather interestin' curses earlier," Jazz mock-confided to Prowl with a broad grin. "I think he's been listenin' to the twins too much lately."

"I have been doing no such thing," Red Alert said indignantly. "I've been having to listen to -you- far too much lately."

"Stop baiting Red Alert, Jazz." The calm request came from the large, solidly-built man who had just entered the command centre. He had a commanding presence, and moved with quiet, steady confidence. He made his way over to the main console and seated himself, then turned to face the others in the room. 

"Right away, Prime," Jazz replied with a crisp salute, though he was still grinning. 

Prime just shook his head with a faint sigh, then turned his attention to Prowl. "Good to see you still in one piece, Prowl," he said gravely. "How are the others?"

"Mostly unharmed," Prowl replied. "I had them all report to Ratchet for proper check-ups though, and their mechs are with Sparkplug and Wheeljack, as is mine. Ironhide was the worst hit, but the damage he sustained was relatively minimal. If it had been one of the others who'd taken those hits though..." He shrugged eloquently.

"An' have you reported to the Doc' yourself?" Jazz asked, leaning back in his chair and raising an eyebrow at Prowl. 

"I shall do so as soon as I have finished debriefing here and he has a spare moment," Prowl replied evenly. 

Prime nodded. "Make sure that you do." He paused, then asked, "So what exactly happened out there?" 

Prowl gave them all a proper description of events, then ended with, "As to who they were or why they attacked, I can't say. I haven't come up with any logical conclusions yet."

Jazz shrugged. "Maybe there isn't a logical reason behind it," he suggested, idly fiddling with the pair of slim metal dogtags hanging from a thin chain around his neck.

Prowl shook his head. "Everything has a logical reason."

"Even Sides baiting Ratchet?" Jazz asked with a grin.

"Sideswipe is at least somewhat insane."

Jazz stifled a laugh as Prime levelled a bland stare at him. "Back to the subject here," Prime stated firmly. "Any idea how they got the location in the first place yet, Red?"

Red Alert shook his head, looking exasperated. "None. So far, I've detected no problems with Teletraan, no security breaches, no leaks or incursions of any sort."

Prime frowned, absently rubbing his chin with one hand. "Keep looking. Do the best you can."

"Of course, Prime." Red Alert turned his attention back to his console and promptly tuned out the rest of the room as he resumed his work.

Prime watched him for a moment, then looked back at Prowl and Jazz. "Any thoughts on who they might have been?" he asked. 

"They weren't Seekers," Prowl stated firmly. "At least, none of the Seekers that we're familiar with." He frowned thoughtfully. "That doesn't really mean much though. They could be a new design, and the fact that our comms. were jammed for the duration of the attack suggests that Soundwave was involved."

"An' if Soundwave's around, that'd mean the Decepticons were behind it," Jazz mused. "The 'Cons -have- been awfully quiet lately. Maybe that's what they've been up to -- makin' new mechs. It'd explain why they've been keepin' their heads down."

"But the strike doesn't mesh with their usual tactics," Prowl countered. "Their normal mission objective is to steal what they can get first and destroy what they don't manage to take off with, not just destroy the target outright." He leant back in his chair, frowning up at the ceiling. "It's possible that we're not dealing with Decepticons at all here. There -are- others out there with possible access to the technology."

"An' ain't that a thought that worries me more with every passin' day," Jazz commented dryly. "The 'Cons are bad enough as it is."

"Either way, we have nothing conclusive yet." Prime rubbed at his temples with one hand. "All we know for sure is that there are five jets out there whose mission objective seems to be to outright destroy their target."

"But not the ones guarding it," Prowl added slowly. "As soon as the bunker was destroyed, they pulled out and took off. They didn't hang around for a slugging match, and for the most part their fire at us was just to keep us pinned down so they could get clear shots at the bunker." He frowned again as another thought occurred to him. "They didn't even transform. There's a possibility that they weren't even mechs, just fighter pilots in normal jets. We didn't have the chance to get more than a basic scan on them." 

Jazz let out a low whistle. "We're just gettin' too many questions an' possibilities here, an' not enough answers."

"Nowhere near enough answers," Prime agreed with a sigh. "And no way of getting any of those answers either, unless they decide to strike again."

"Let's hope they don't. But if they do strike again, we'll be better prepared for them," Prowl said firmly. "I'll brief the others as soon as possible."

Prime nodded. "Do that, but only after you've been checked out by Ratchet. Jazz, help out Red with the security systems and see what other information you can dig up." 

Jazz tossed off a casual salute. "Will do, Prime. I'll let y'know as soon as we come up with anything." He rolled his chair back to his own console and settled down to work. Prowl just sat for a moment, deep in thought, then shook his head with a sigh and got up to go pay their irascible medic a visit.

**...**

Attson took the brothers out on more training runs several times over the next few weeks. The majority of the missions were at night, with Attson's explanation, when he deigned to give one, being that they didn't want to alarm the general public with multiple unknown jet sightings. Each mission was some variation of a hit and run, with the five being given the task to take out a hard ground target. Sometimes the target was guarded, sometimes it wasn't. One night Attson had them hit several separate targets, with miles of flying between each one. They didn't get back to base till well after dawn, and despite their weariness after an entire night's flying, Fireflight still managed to find innocent, almost childish delight at watching the sunrise. Silverbolt couldn't share his brother's enjoyment though; he spent most of the flight back fighting the urge to dive back down to the ground as the rising sun revealed exactly how far away that ground really was.

Not all their runs went entirely smoothly, either. One trip out, as they were flying over a large redwood forest in the late afternoon, the fear suddenly rose up and engulfed Silverbolt without warning, forcing him downwards despite his best efforts. He managed to transform and land in a clearing, claiming that he felt some fault in his mech that he had to check out. His brothers seemed to buy his story and circled patiently overhead, but it was a good fifteen or so minutes before Silverbolt could manage to force himself back into the air. 

In another incident, the brothers were heading back after a mission at low altitude, practising their terrain-following flying as ordered by Attson. It was early enough that the sun was just starting to peek over the horizon, and a combination of weariness, low light and his own thoughts distracted Fireflight to the extent that he completely failed to notice the mountain looming ahead of him until the very last moment. It was only his sudden, desperate banking to one side that kept him from ploughing into it nose-first; as it was, one wingtip clipped a treetop and sent him careening wildly away from the mountain as he overcompensated. Slingshot and Skydive had to scramble madly to get out of the way, with Skydive nearly stalling out and barely managing to avoid crashing himself. Fireflight was so apologetic about the mess though that they couldn't stay mad at him for long, and he managed to pay attention to where he was going for most of the rest of the journey home.

Then there were all the incidences where Air Raid almost got himself - or -did- get himself - shot by both enemy and friendly fire because he insisted on buzzing their targets without warning, or otherwise getting far too close. Scoldings from Silverbolt seemed to just go in one ear and out the other, but at least he pretended to listen to those ones, unlike the scathing lectures he got from Attson that he ignored completely and unrepentantly. 

The brothers were on their way back from yet another late-night mission where Air Raid had played catch-the-ammo, not that the damage ever seemed to bother him much. As they neared the hangar, with Slingshot trailing well behind the others, Air Raid put on a burst of speed and pulled ahead of the rest before diving for the ground. " _Hah! First one back again!_ " he crowed as he transformed and landed outside the hangar, skidding to a halt in a spray of dirt.

" _It's not a race, 'Raid,_ " Silverbolt admonished wearily as he cruised low over the hangar and began to circle, allowing Skydive and Fireflight room to land first. 

Fireflight glided down and transformed, stumbling a little as his feet hit the dirt. Skydive landed soon after, transforming and touching down with his usual grace. The two headed past Air Raid and into the hangar, and Silverbolt circled once more before touching down himself with a quiet sigh of relief, grateful to have his feet back on solid ground. 

" _Better first than last,_ " Air Raid commented with a grin as he looked back the way they'd come." _C'mon, Sling, you're still miles away! What's taking you so long?_ "

" _Nothing,_ " Slingshot replied shortly. " _I'm just enjoying the air time. I'm not in that much of a hurry to get back dirtside again._ "

Air Raid just laughed, standing with his hands on his hips and his head tilted back to watch the gradually lightening sky. " _Slowpoke._ "

" _I am not! I just don't like wasting time on the ground when I could be in the air instead,_ " Slingshot snapped back. " _I dunno why you're in such a rush anyway, especially since Attson's probably gonna yell at you for half an hour again._ "

Silverbolt sighed and interrupted before the argument could get any worse. " _Enough, you two. It's too late - or early - to be bickering like this._ "

" _Whatever you say, fearless leader,_ " Air Raid replied cheekily as he disappeared into the hangar after Skydive and Fireflight. There was no reply from Slingshot, but a few minutes later the smallest jet finally circled down to transform and land nearby. Silverbolt, still standing outside, eyed Slingshot closely. "Is everything all right?" he asked, keeping his voice low. "You have been falling behind a lot lately."

Slingshot let out a snort. "'Course everything's all right," he replied sharply, then grinned. "I can't help it if I'm the image of aerial perfection and 'Raider's just an impatient jerk." He strode past Silverbolt and ducked into the hangar. Silverbolt just sighed and followed him inside, shaking his head.

The others were already out of their mechs; Skydive and Fireflight were on the ground, talking quietly about the run they'd just completed. Air Raid meanwhile had clambered up his mech to check on some damage it had taken, and was perched precariously on its shoulder. As Slingshot and Silverbolt moved further into the hangar, Air Raid turned to look over at them, a grin on his face as he prepared to shoot some smart-mouthed comment in Slingshot's direction. But as he turned his foot slipped on the smooth metal; he lost his balanced and teetered for a moment, arms flailing as he tried to find a handhold, before gravity claimed him and he started to fall towards the hard concrete floor ten meters below.

"' **Raid!** "

Silverbolt instinctively lunged towards Air Raid, but he was too far away to reach in time. Skydive, Fireflight and Slingshot were also too far, though they'd started moving as well. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as Air Raid fell--

\-- and his own mech suddenly moved, optics flaring to life and one hand flashing out to catch its pilot a mere meter or two from the ground. The unpiloted and supposedly powered-down mech then carefully lowered its hand and gently deposited a stunned and shaken Air Raid on the ground before settling back again, its optics flickering out. 

There was complete silence for a long moment, and nobody moved. Finally, Fireflight broke the silence, his voice a little shaky. "Um... are our mechs supposed to be able to do that? Moving without us?"

"I dunno if they're supposed to, but I'm damn glad it happened anyway," Air Raid replied, trying to hide the shakiness of his own voice as he hauled himself back to his feet and leant against his mech's foot. He took a few deep breaths, then suddenly grinned even as Skydive and Fireflight headed towards him to make sure he was really all right. "Man, that was a rush though!"

"Was it worth the bruises?" Skydive asked dryly as he checked Air Raid over for any serious injuries, while Fireflight hovered anxiously nearby. Air Raid just shrugged, still grinning despite the occasional wince whenever Skydive found a particularly tender spot. Luckily there wasn't anything worse than bruises, and Skydive soon allowed Air Raid to shoo him off with a wave of his hands.

"Just don't try that again," Silverbolt admonished, finally getting his voice back and walking over to park his mech in its usual spot. "You nearly gave me a heart attack." Behind him, Slingshot just muttered something under his breath as he settled his own mech and disembarked. 

"Well, I won't try it again on purpose, anyway," Air Raid replied lightly, and Skydive just rolled his eyes.

"All right then, let's get out of here. Attson's probably already waiting for us for debriefing," Silverbolt sighed, heading for the door. "The sooner we get there, the sooner it's over." 

Skydive followed on his heels, but Fireflight hesitated beside Air Raid. "Are you sure you're all right?" he murmured, brow still furrowed anxiously. "That was scary."

Air Raid patted Fireflight on the shoulder, smiling reassuringly. "I'm fine, 'Flight, don't worry, okay?" Fireflight gave a relieved little smile and hurried off to catch up with Silverbolt and Skydive. 

As the rest headed out of the hangar, Slingshot halted next to Air Raid and punched him hard in the shoulder. "Idiot," he growled, scowling, before stalking off after the others without giving Air Raid a chance to respond.

Surprised, Air Raid blinked and stared after him, absently rubbing his arm. After a moment's thought he grinned, glancing back up at his mech. "You get what that was all about too, don'tchya?" The mech remained still and silent, but Air Raid was almost convinced that a tiny little smile tugged at the corner of its mouth. He chuckled and patted its leg, then pushed away from his mech's foot and jogged off to catch up with his brothers. 

**...**

The numerous test flights left the brothers little time or energy to do much more than keep up with their physical training. With no more simulator runs except for the ones they chose to do themselves on the few days they didn't have missions, they didn't hear from Timothy at all, and they barely saw Jen more than once every couple of days. Attson however seemed to always be around somewhere, a near-constant presence around the facility even when no missions were lined up. He rebuffed any attempts by the brothers to be friendly however, and continued to treat them condescendingly when he bothered to even acknowledge their presence at all. 

"I really don't like that guy," Air Raid muttered after one mission where Attson had been particularly acerbic in his review of their performance. Air Raid nearly getting himself hit by friendly fire yet again with his habit of buzzing the targets on the ground hadn't helped matters any.

Slingshot rolled his eyes as he flopped back down into one of the couches and draped one arm over his face, his other arm cushioned under his head. "Gee, I wonder why." Skydive just listened with idle amusement from his chair, while Silverbolt did his best to tune them out, not wanting to get involved in the conversation. Fireflight was off in his own little dream world and paid no attention whatsoever, which was fairly normal for him.

"Oh, maybe because he's a condescending, elitist, bossy jerk who thinks far too much of himself," Air Raid replied, idly pacing up and down behind the couch Slingshot was on. "And he smells funny."

"I think that's just you that smells funny, 'Raider," Slingshot grinned and peered out from under his arm, watching Air Raid warily just in case he decided to retaliate. "You sure you remember to shower regularly?"

Air Raid was more concerned with ranting about Attson though and just made a face at Slingshot. "Very funny, ha ha." He went back to pacing. "I mean, he's just so full of himself! It's annoying. Not to mention his voice -- I wanna claw my ears off every time I have t'listen to it."

"And he always acts like he knows something we don't," Skydive commented quietly. "Like there's some sort of joke that only he knows the punchline to."

"We're probably the punchline," Slingshot said, his voice bland. 

"I'd like to punch -him-." Air Raid grinned toothily and slammed his fist into his opposite palm to demonstrate. "Pow! Right in the face. It'd be beautiful."

Silverbolt sat up a bit at that and pinned Air Raid with a flat, unimpressed stare. "No punching, Raider," he stated firmly. "Behave yourself." 

"Aww c'mon, 'Bolt!" Air Raid protested, spreading his arms out, hands open. "You gotta admit you'd like to clock that annoying jerk as well. I've seen the looks you give him when his back's turned!"

"I admit to absolutely nothing," Silverbolt replied calmly, his expression still as bland as ever. "No punching him, no matter how tempting it might be." He raised an eyebrow at Air Raid. "He might decide to ground you for a while if you do." 

"... No punching, gotchya." The thought of being stuck on the ground and not being able to fly out with the rest of his brothers was enough to subdue Air Raid... for a while, anyway. 

**...**

In the Autobot command centre, Prime eyed the latest reports and let out a sigh, rubbing at his face. "That makes, what, the thirteenth attack in less than a month?"

"Fourteenth," Prowl corrected absently from where he was sitting at his console, the majority of his attention focused on his work. "Fifteenth, if you count that very first one as well." 

"An' we're still no closer to figurin' out who they are, where they're from, or why they're doin' this," Jazz added with a touch of uncharacteristic frustration in his voice. He leant back in his chair and spun it around to face Prime. "Red's been goin' insane tryin' t'figure out how they're gettin' the info. Our security's tighter'n it's ever been, an' they're still somehow findin' targets to hit." 

Prime frowned and glanced around. "Where is Red Alert, anyway?" 

"In his quarters," Prowl replied, finally looking up from his console. "I ordered him to get some rest. He's been fretting away at this practically non-stop. Ratchet was -this- close to sedating him." He held his thumb and forefinger up almost touching to demonstrate just how close their chief medical officer had been to drugging their head of security insensate. 

"It wouldn't be the first time," Prime murmured dryly, then gave his head a slight shake, making his pair of dogtags jingle. "At least we haven't had any major injuries lately." 

"A fact for which we're all grateful." Prowl glanced back at his monitor. "Wheeljack and Sparkplug have been kept busy though. Ratchet's keeping a watchful eye on them to make sure they don't overwork themselves as well." 

Jazz grinned at that, some of his usual cheer returning. "An' boy, don't that make Sparky cranky. Some'a the things I've heard him callin' Ratch lately were just genius, pure genius." He folded his arms behind his head and gazed dreamily at the ceiling. 

Prowl sighed and snapped his fingers at Jazz. "Focus." 

Prime propped his chin up in one hand, hiding his smile with his fingers, as Jazz gave Prowl a mournful look over the top of his shades. "You're bustin' my happy bubble here, man." Prowl just gave him a bland look, and Jazz sighed and sat up again, though the corner of his mouth was twitching in suppressed amusement. "No rest for the wicked, it seems."

"Explain why the Decepticons have been getting so much rest lately, then," Prowl commented dryly. "They haven't made a move in months." 

Jazz spread his hands out. "They haven't needed to -- these mystery jets are doin' all their work -for- them. Up to an' includin' draggin' our reputations through the mud. The media's havin' a field day." 

"The question is, then," Prime spoke up thoughtfully, his brow furrowed, "Are the Decepticons actually behind these attacks... or are they merely taking advantage of the situation, using it as a diversion while they work on something else that we haven't had a chance to find out about yet?"

Prowl sighed and looked back at his console, settling in for another long night of work. "Unless and until we get some sort of lead on these attacks, or on whatever the Decepticons are up to... we may never know."


End file.
